Freighthopping
by iackrabbit
Summary: Talus Kober's name got called, and she didn't mind her inevitable death at all. It was the events leading up to it that bothered her, the way his eyes were so blue and how he left bruises all along her pale skin. There was nothing romantic about it, not really, but the capitol seemed to eat it right up, and something about those blue eyes made her want to cry. Cato/Oc.
1. Prologue

"You know what?" Reggin spoke suddenly, casual like, "I think I'm going to volunteer today."

Talus ignored him, her legs sprawled out on the rickety platform that shook and quivered with the wind and the vibrations of the train tracks. It was an old structure, unused except for the odd straggler here and there, not many people came this far out. Why would they, there was nothing to see here after all.

The others though, they were interested in what he had to say, despite the fact that it was nothing new. It was the odds that stood against him that intrigued them, the miniscule chance that he would actually volunteer, that he had a chance to win.

Reg was leaning back on his elbows below the platform, and she could just about make out the wild tufts of dull brown hair that stuck every which way. He was a hopeless sort usually, but with his deep rooted cynicism came the odd spur of nonsense, such came about every reaping like clockwork, but he had yet to act on this pipe dream of his as of yet. Talus was a gambler, and she could say wholeheartedly that she wouldn't put a dime on Reg, he was too soft hearted in the long run.

"I mean, I could do it, you know." He went on, "What is it that those upper District pricks call it? Bringing pride to their district. I could do that."

At this point, stemming from solid evidence compiled over the years, Talus had come to the conclusion that Reg was an idiot. A real dimlow. Because what other reason would he have to talk such pure and utter shite if not for lack of a brain?

"Those _career_ pricks are the Capitol pets." Eligius stated, pausing as the bottle was halfway suspended to his mouth, always ready to perpetuate the ingrown hatred of the lower districts towards the better off, the kind that was harbored from an early age. It was a healthy sort of radicalism, with a streak of rebelliousness for appeal. _"The pricks."_ He added on half heartedly, as if to clarify his point further, before finally taking a swig of his beer. It was a compelling argument, truly.

Axel chuckled quietly at that, somewhere to Talus' left, but the smallest shaking of his chest was enough to make the rafters sway along with him.

No one spoke after that, because what was there to say? Sure, they could talk in circles about how unfair it was, could conjure up a weak voice that spoke of unrest and impending revolution, but they'd heard that spiel a thousand times before. They were just waiting for the freight train, half cut from indulging in cheap booze and copious amounts of rotgut liquor, smoking their cigarettes in a familiar and amicable silence.

"Look at this view." She could imagine Reg motioning vaguely to the endless rolls of fields and hill tops ahead. "Doesn't it make you proud- Proud to be from Six? Those capitol pricks and upper district pigs don't get this view. Us Micks, we're the only ones who get to see this."

District Six consisted of interconnected hubs via transportation, largely industrialised and severely overpopulated. The Justice Building and the town square were situated smack bang in the middle, that's where the Reaping was held, it was the only place big enough to hold such a mass. Up North you had the Rail Yards and Cargo holds, East was where the offices were situated and where people collected their pay slips. Middle ground was where the market place was, dotted around the Justice Building and public domain, the rich and the merchants lived their lives there along with the Mayor, the rest of the population were simply tourists. South was split between wasteland and a few well-off neighbourhoods, where Talus and her friends currently were, for lack of a better word, stranded. The fields weren't used for anything, and it had become some sort of ritual to wander there the day before the Reaping. And West was where the Micks were situated, the most impoverished of the lot.

The West consisted of scrap yards and heath's, the local business' were solely illegal havens and an array of pubs, a few black markets here and there on a small scale. There was a small tobacco company situated near an illegal race track where the Mick's held the drag races, they kept their unlicensed homemade motor cars in an abandoned Cargo hold down South. The people of District Six referred to it's inhabitants as Micks, a derogatory term they had adopted and rebranded.

"Up the West and fuck the rest!" Eli let out a peal of laughter and sent his empty bottle flying. He was stood atop a large rock, a boy on the brink of manhood with an impressive stature, standing tall and lean as the sun warmed his face. It was a common mantra upon the Micks, one that Talus had grown to hate overtime. They all took the time to watch the bottle soar before it inevitably came back down, and she admired the throw all the same.

"It's shit being a Mick. Even shitter living in the districts, Capitol pets or not." Talus spoke around her cigarette, letting out plumes of smoke as she looked on with hardened eyes. "Some people hate those Capitol pricks, well I don't. They're all just a sorry shower of bastards, but we're the damn cads underneath their thumb."

She took an especially long drag, Axel's nimble fingers prying the stick away from her lips. His red hair was all that she could see in her peripheral vision, and he rested his freckled cheek against her own, chin jutting out over her shoulder as he breathed out smoke. Personal space was a myth as far as he was concerned.

"We're the scrape of the barrel, boys, and that's what it means to be a Mick. No view, no matter how grand it may be, will change that." Her gaze dropped to the boy below, wide eyes peering up at her in between crooked floor boards."So _no_ , Reg, I'm not proud to be a Mick, and all the fucking fresh air in the world won't change my mind."

With that she took back her cigarette, and everyone went back to staring into the nothingness of the supposed pride of district six. All was silent once more, the freight train was getting closer and Talus threw her cigarette to the wind. She hoped those bloody fields burned for all the good it had done them.

Pushing Axel's body away from her own she got back on her feet, engineer boots absorbing the rattle of the oncoming train as if the world was being pulled from beneath her feet, but she stood steady all the same. It was all about timing when it came to freighthopping, that and sure footing.

Talus was the first to take the dive, swinging open the cart and heaving herself inside in one swift, concise movement.

"She's got a point, you know." Axel piped up, flashing an impish grin before he pulled himself into the cart.

Eli took long strides, climbing up the decking of the platform at ease, calculating which move would less likely get him killed. Riding suicide wasn't an option, not today, not with alcohol in his bloodstream and a lazy heat that left him so slow. He saw his opportunity, and he was ready to take it, not taking any notice as Reg tried to scramble his way to the platform.

"She's got a real way with words, dontcha think?" Eli said to no one in particular, swinging into the freight car with a strange grace for a lanky lad of that sheer size, but at that point Reg was the only one left to hear.

He stood there dumbly, it never occurred to him that he could miss the train if he didn't get a move on.

"I think that's the most I've ever heard her talk." He announced to thin air.


	2. Chapter One, Son of a Gun, Part 1

Talus woke to the faint smell of a long dead campfire, her mind a fog of smoke and muck. The only thing blindingly clear to her in that moment of sleep induced haze was that she had dreamt of the puzzle again.

Eyes fluttering lazily, she peered at Eligius' sleeping face from beneath the hood of her jacket, wrapping it tighter around herself as the morning chill set in. There was an indigo bruise resting against his cheekbone, and he looked younger when he was asleep. All of this was noted with a dull recognition as she searched her pockets for a packet of smokes, shaking the bottle of beer laying next to her only to make a disappointed noise in the back of her throat when she realised it was empty.

Taking in the fragrance of smoke and petrol, the scents that made the most sense to her along with the stenches that filled the steel mill and pubs, she could almost trick herself into believing it was the smell before rain. It had been a long time since Talus had last seen the rain fall, she missed it terribly, and it was even longer still that she could appreciate the thought of it. She didn't want much in life, she didn't want much at all, but she longed for the cool touch of rain against her filthy skin.

Mind clearing as her senses, bleak and riddled with sleep, kicked in once and for all, she realised they had spent the night sleeping in The Lot. It was the safe haven of their group, the only person who never made use of it was Axel, his Mother being the icing on top as far as the group was concerned. Mrs. Smith was a real good lady, too good for Axel as far as anyone else went, he was a total scatterbrain most of the time, and the other time he spent chasing skirts.

They were no good Mick's, moreover they were the transient youth of a derelict world, built of trains and railway tracks and working class lives. The sun rose in the East, where those bastard Benz's lived, and it set in the West where the kids went to bed hungry with dirty faces. They called the East kids Benz's because they used to drive those real nice Mercedes back before Panem and the rebellion, and somehow it stuck. Rumour had it that they still had Mercedes in the Capitol, but Talus had never placed much trust in such hearsay. The Mick's made the cars, and they sure as hell didn't make no Benz.

"Mornin', Sunshine." Talus murmured through a yawn, kicking out softly at Eligius' curled up body. "I said get your ass up, ya no good Mick."

"I'm up, I'm up." Eli let out, bemoaned. "Hell, least I ain't some damned Benz with a stick up me arse."

She huffed softly, trying in vain to get the stiffness out of her limbs. That was the problem with sleeping at The Lot, no one thought to reach the sofa before sleep took it's hold and sleeping on cardboard in no way softened the uneven gravel and spotted concrete of the ground. Still, they kept on spending night's there, and they never made it to the sofa.

The Lot was an old allotment that they used to keep industrial equipment and dumpers and diggers, it was a little down South of the neighbourhood they kept, right next to the scrapyard where they swore they used to find the best treasure when they were kids. It was also along the border where Mick's and Benz's would tow the line. They stayed out of the Lot, and the Mick's didn't touch their ground. It was an unspoken law among the people, and not many bothered to break it.

Eli let out a low, appreciative whistle as the sun broke through the horizon and set the sky ablaze. "Old Reg'd love this view, he'll be real sore he missed it. Tuff'nough, alright."

"Old Reg can be sore all he wants, he hasn't got a damned brain in that head of his. Is it just for decor, yafink? If not then he should put it to use sometime." Talus wasn't usually one for words, but it was just her and Eligius, and he was a good listener.

She supposed in some ways she was closest to Eligius, because his home life weren't so tuff either. Axel had his Mother, and Reggin thought his Uncle's were King's or something the way he went on about them, and so it was really only when he was feeling adventurous that he'd keep a night at The Lott. Her and Eligius talked some, but they were also content with the silence, there was no pressure and she found herself enjoying his company.

He laughed a little, pausing to celebrate a half empty bottle he'd found only to start up again. "You're too hard on him, Tal, too harsh by a mile. Reg ain't never hurt nobody, he's a goodun."

Talus hauled herself up off the ground, pawing at the sleep in her eyes with a cigarette jutting out the corner of her lips. "Good will don't pay the bills, and it don't fix any problems neither. Don't be yellow, Eli."

"Me? Yellow? Never!" He protested, almost falling down just as soon as he'd stood up. He was still half drunk, but he'd have to be to get through today.

Reaping Day was a terrible affair for all, but it was always worse for Eligius, and that's partly why he had a bruised face and Talus had spent the night in The Lot. That was also why he was so desperately rebellious, in fact she would venture as to that being the reason why he was a lot of things.

Talus felt funny, a sinking kind of feeling deep within her gut, and anticipation hung in the air, thick and buoyant. She would have paused for a second, disputed as to if it were long lasting effects of drinking or something more, but right as she went to do so she heard the scream.

Faintly, she heard a dog barking, and she supposed it was Old Blue, the stray mutt that roamed the scrap yards.

"Get 'im, boys! Pin the tail on the Benz you son of a gun!" Someone roared, they must have been roaring for a mighty long time too considering how hoarse his voice had gone. It was decisively a boy, and she felt she recognised the voice well enough.

Nero Valice was a long time bully, the meanest kid to ever walk the street. It wasn't too far fetched that you'd catch him chasing some poor schmuck around with his gang of merry bastards in tow.

Eli and her could hear laboured panting, and a boy stumbled through the ash piles and nearly fell ass over head. It was a pain to get ash out of your hair, it was as fine as dust and as pigmented as coal, and she reckoned there was soot mixed in there too. That's partly why she kept her hair so short.

This kid wasn't a Mick, you could tell by his half decent clothes and his clean face, despite the sweat and the tears that stained his flushed cheeks.

She climbed a hill of dirt and ash and soot to get a better view, a few clods of turf and a bit of coal here and there just to trip you up when you least expected it. Talus was quick on her feet, always had been, but Eli was right behind her in this instance- the adrenaline getting to him.

Sure enough, there was a familiar gang of boys on his tail, and while Nero was the leader it was Vic Scurlock in the lead. He was tall and lean and a darn sight faster than anyone else, and he just so happened to be Talus' longtime rival and ex friend.

They'd grown up together, her and Vic, but she couldn't stand Nero and he, as it turns out, could. She wasn't sore about it or nothing, she had an easy enough time making friends and she wasn't that bothered about making them in the first place. But still, some things aren't nice to see, and she prayed Vic wouldn't catch the kid for her sake.

When you know a guy, really know a guy, you better hope and pray you don't have to see that guy getting bloody. That was Talus' opinion of it anyway.

Close on his heels, and also fast as hell, was Robbie McAvoy, who didn't belong with the Mick's or the Benz's. He was a borderline kid, his parents seasonal merchants that had high highs and low lows. Both sides tended to resent those sort of kids, and more often than not they found refuge with the Mick's, because in the East they resent you for having no money and in the West they saw it as nothing new. His having the occasional cash flow wasn't that important. He was good looking, with dark skin and lovely hair, and he knew he was good looking too. Talus couldn't stand guys like that, not just because he knew he was good looking though, but because he tried so hard to make sure he looked his best all the damn time. It was sickening, truly.

Then came Nero, Domitius Adler and Landon Rogers. Domitius had dark skin and black eyes, and he was a real evil bastard, despite being one of the youngest in the gang. Landon was nothing special, he was a seedy sort of kid but nothing impressive like- and it just so happened him and Domitius would follow Nero to the end of the world.

"Odds on, Tal?" Eli spoke suddenly from her left, eyes following the crowd evenly, though she could see the tick in his jaw. "Because if I'm being honest I don't think they're all well to be like."

"We can take 'em. Believe me, Eli, this here's a gambler that don't like to lose."

"Does any gambler like to lose?"

She ignored him, her engineer boots gone with only a cloud of dust left in her wake. Talus could somehow slide down the debris piles and the mountains of crock with a grace and ease that seemed impossible, and always managed to make everyone else look clumsy and deft-footed by comparison. He wondered, briefly, if Vic could do it too. They were always quick, with their sparse wit and their agile bodies, and though Eli certainly wasn't slow he was nothing when it came to the two of them and their damned races.

Talus was already half way up the next makeshift mount by the time Eli's feet hit solid ground, and she climbed the scrap prominence casually- no rush on her. She even waited for him, her eyes steady on Vic as she peered out at the land of grey alps like it was her very own empire of dirt.

They both collected rocks on the way up, sharp ones and small ones and ones that'd pack a hell of a punch.

Vic wasn't a Benz, far from it actually, and he sure as hell wasn't pretending to be one neither. He was the hardest kid around, or at least that's what his friends liked to think, and sometimes Talus supposed she agreed. It had always been her and Vic, for a time at least, and even now they were the ones to beat.

"And here I thought the only kid's a dyin' 'ld be the ones whose names got called, that's a damn shame alright, old sport." Talus hollered, and despite its volume it was somehow still quiet to the ear.

It didn't have to be loud though, because Nero Valice hated everyone and he hated her just a little bit more than anyone else you'd be so inclined to meet on the street.

"Oh, Reaping Day, is it?" Robbie mocked in a sickeningly sweet baritone, "That's a real excuse you got there I say."

"It's alright for you, being nineteen an' all, right?" Talus drawled, taking a lazy look at the others, "But your friends here, well, they're not quite at the finish line yet. Hey, Rogers, how old are you again?"

"Sixteen, T'lus. Sixteen, I am." Landon spoke. He had a habit of repeating himself, and he'd never spoken a word proper. At this point she didn't know if it was on purpose or if he had a speech impediment or if he was just slow.

She hummed, "S'pose you're real bent up about this Reaping then, aye? Since it might just be your death sentence."

"I hope it's yours." Nero piped up suddenly, grinning up at her through the blood pouring down his face. "I hope it's your name, Arkwright, and I can't wait to see you get slaughtered."

Eli was seeing red, she knew, but something lifted in her stomach and it was suddenly a hell of a lot easier to breathe again.

Vic wasn't laughing, instead he looked nervous. Then again, Robbie wasn't either, they both looked unsure- because they could sense that Nero was about to go too far, that he'd end up doing something they couldn't take back. They weren't like Landon and Domitius, they wouldn't follow Nero to the end of the earth, and they certainly didn't want to stick around long enough to see what he'd do.

"Those are fightin' words, Nero. You better watch yourself." She warned him lowly and fair, because Talus had always had a streak of fairness in her in this unfair world.

Nero stood in all his sadistic glory, baring his teeth. "I'll piss on ya grave, ya damned bitch!"

And then Talus let the first rock fly.

 ** _(This is about 1/4th of what I have written down for chapter one, hence the part 1. in the title. I was having a sleepless night so I got some editing done, and this is where I got up to. Pt. 2 should be out soon, or at least here's to hoping..._**

A dictionary guide to Freighthopping:

Freighthopping: illegally riding a train

Tuff (Tuff enough; Tuff'nough, & other variations to appear probably): cool

Mick: West side, poor, dirty

Benz: East side, rich, clean

Yellow (yellow belly): cowardly

Sore: bitter


	3. Chapter One, Son of a Gun, Part 2

Rock fights were dangerous business, and people getting hurt was inevitable, but they had to help the Benz kid. She didn't think about it all too much, never really going into the 'them against us' mantra, but it was Reaping day. The day where all conflict was void, because everyone was the victim.

She didn't particularly know why they had to defend the kid, it was just one of those things that was in the air, unspoken but mutually agreed upon. So even though she told herself it was because of the Reaping, and she still felt something strange brimming inside her, the truth was that they would have defended the Benz anyday they saw this kind of thing happen. But neither Talus nor Eligius would readily admit to it, mostly because not one of them fully understood it themselves.

Nero got the worst of it, of course, from sharp ones that sliced his skin to little ones that stung like a bitch and ones that'd leave bruises that went the most horrible colours you could imagine. His face seemed to pour blood from everywhere, he fell to the floor in his desperation to throw something back, but they had a height advantage and held their ground. Watching him scramble and squirm and the way his body took each hit didn't do anything for Talus, she didn't think he deserved it or that he was innocent, she wasn't thinking much of anything as she threw her ammo.

He was vicious and snarling, and when a dog like that came about you put it down once and for all. It was one of the many lessons in life, one that Mick's learnt early on.

Landon was the first to run, and he sure ran like hell.

Eligius let one rip, and it hit him right in the leg, Landon jumped and let out a yelp but didn't stop.

No one would look down on him for it, he wasn't a coward for running, it was in their nature. Of course, Nero would see it differently, and Talus knew in her heart that if they had chased down the Benz and caught him that Landon would have joined in heartedly with everything Nero intended to inflict. One day he would end up killing someone, that was the common verdict, and it was no well-kept secret that Landon Rogers got off on others pain, that he'd gladly sit back and watch until it was his turn to hurt someone.

When they ran out of ammo they picked up handfuls of shrapnel, pebbles and broken glass and gravel raining down on those below.

Vic managed to get a couple of good shots, and with the sheer force of Dom's throwing arm between them they managed to do some kind of damage, but Robbie and Nero had no relief or mercy from their fire.

With each hit, the nastiest ones in particular, they were left scrambling for cover on the floor, their bodies spasmed and jerked like they just got shot, and they looked more animal than human. Nero was howling obscenities and a mesh of words tangled up in one pain-fuelled cry, Robbie had resorted to curling up in a ball, just waiting for the right time to make a run for it like Landon.

When Eligius took a rock to the side, courtesy of none other than Domitius, Robbie saw his chance and he took it. Everyone watched as he ran for the hills idly, as Nero choked on dirt and Eli sucked in a sharp breath, and it was only Talus and Vic that didn't let up.

They were so alike that it was scary sometimes.

Talus sidestepped a scarily precise rock heading her way, and she had no doubt that it had been Vic that hurled it across the Lott. Had it really been all that long ago that they would peg bottles with rocks in the backfields, where they watched them burst into a million pieces and glass sprayed the metallic surface of makeshift pedestals and pinged against electrical wiring with a lively buzz? No, she supposed it hadn't been that long at all, and as her gaze levelled on his face she got the distinct feeling that he was remembering it too.

They stared at each other for an age, and their hits went softer but never less accurate, and it was for old times sake rather than their aching arms and stiff joints. He was by a rusty old motorcar that had been on the land so long that it had become one with the earth, where it most likely had been long before they were born and, if Talus was to guess, long after they were to die. Vic's face was halflit, shrouded in the shadows of a particularly high prominence of debris and set ablaze by the steadily trickling sun that rose in the East. For a moment, with his soft youthful looks and the preening radiance that leant him an angelic quality, Vic Scurlock was the little boy she had grown up with once more.

When she blinked he was gone, and a stranger with blood dribbling past his hairline and into his face remained in his place. A cloud covered the sun, and there was no distinguishable quality to the boy, just a vague outline where he stood tall and proud, but scared and small too.

"I'll get you!" Nero yowled, "I'll kill you all, just you wait and see!"

His walk was broken, his movement surly and daft, and if it weren't for Domitus half carrying him he surely would have fallen in a heap. Each word was heavily emphasised by his laboured breath, and it was almost hard to tell he was human with the way he scrambled beside the hulking figure of his friend, it was just a little bit pathetic. It definitely took the bite from his words.

" _Benz-loving chumps!"_

Eligius scoffed, looking away from Nero Valice like he couldn't bare to look at him much longer. She didn't blame him, it sure wasn't a pretty sight.

"He's walking like he just shat himself, boy-o." She let out in a low whistle, shaking her head absently.

Vic was the last to leave, and he left with the most dignity. With a slow paced walk at his own leisurely ease, hands stuffed in his pockets and his head held high, he gave them a single nod before hopping the fence, and she supposed from there he caught up with his friends.

And with a huff of a laugh, Eligius rocked onto the back of his heels before falling where he stood, sitting atop an empire of dirt. He laughed disbelievingly, small chuckles peeling off into breathless pants, and he wiped at his skin, his hands coming away streaked with blood and dirt. For years to come Talus would remember that exact moment fondly, as she peered down at him with half of a smile and fondness shining through hooded eyes. Maybe it was because she was still half drunk, or maybe it was the victory, but whatever it was made her sure as hell that Eligius and her were as good as good friends could be.

"I _shit_ on Nero Valice!" He simpered, tittering on the edge of his breathless glory. "Maybe my luck is turning round after all, or maybe you're just that good at betting, hey?"

That damned Benz kid poked his head out from behind some old petrol barrels, watching the whole thing unfold with dumb eyes and his mouth wide open. He was the only one that didn't get bloody, and he sure as hell made sure they knew how grateful he was all the way back home.

"Gee, thanks for that... back there, you know?"

"Yeah, we heard you the first time, kid." Eligius muttered back moodily. He was cruising for a fight, he usually was of course but today was Reaping Day.

Talus wished she hadn't scared them kids off, that the Benz would get the hell outta dodge and Eli could get the fight he wanted. She thought about calling Vic back, not that she wanted to be his friend or for Eli to fight him- but he'd understand. He'd understand what she was feeling and why Eli needed a good tumble. But she didn't, in fact she didn't say anything.

She could talk to a guy like Eli well enough, but this kid was here now and it was over. Eli knew she wouldn't speak much again today, she really had to be in the right sort of mood for that kind of thing and now that kid was here.

"...Yeah, yeah- okay. I'm not from here, I get it, but you guys really did me a solid." He rambled on, "And I really appreciate that sort of thing. I mean, gee, you saved my life!"

"We get it, hotshot, but if you don't stop your yammering we're gonna leave you to walk on your onesie." Eli huffed, looking tired all of a sudden.

"But they might come after me again!"

She didn't know if it was because Eli was so tall, or maybe the bruise resting on his cheek, or even the hardened look about him- but whatever it was, it shut the kid up alright.

Her left shoulder was bruised, and she could feel the blood that sheathed the side of her face and her split lip ache. The rockfight was over, but they would all wear their wounds for some time to come.

Eligius was no pretty picture himself, his nose streaming a river of blood and his ribs on the right side had taken a beating. But they were still standing, and he was used to getting bloody.

"Throw him to the wolves, something tells me they won't take it in turns ripping him apart." Talus mused lowly, staring into the morning sky.

He laughed, "Could you imagine? Those boys are sore enough about us beating 'em, imagine what they'd do if they finally got their claws into this one!"

And she could imagine, as she stared at the Benz who had gone pale in the face. A real yellow kinda kid who wouldn't know how to make a fist. She could see Vic and Robbie roughin' him up real good, the horrible gleam in Nero's eyes as he took it too far and how Dom and Landon followed blindly. That's when Vic and Robbie would stop, but they wouldn't go home, they'd stay and watch and they'd be scared, but they'd do nothing to help. Talus saw it all, she could imagine it real well, and she didn't like it- not one bit.

"C'mon, now." She spoke sudden and brusquely. "The border is just that way and we'll catch the seven o'clock freight to downtown."

They walked in silence after that, Eli amusedly and the kid far gone mellow. Talus though, she was numb, and she tried her hardest to forget about Vic and the horrible feeling in her gut.

You could see the way the streets got cleaner, there were motorcars parked along them and the houses weren't just sorry shacks like they were back home. Talus felt a spark of anger, at this kid for being a damned Benz and nearly getting himself killed, at Nero for chasing him in the first place and making everything harder than it needed to be, but mostly at the Capitol for letting her people starve and live in their own filth. There was plenty to be angry about, apparently, but it was fleeting at best. The anger left her, and she was left numb again, it was a viscous cycle.

"Go on home now." She spoke, "Go see your family, and don't come back around here. You'll be killed stone dead if you do, and we won't stop it."

She felt nothing then, she just looked straight ahead and said those words while feeling nothing.

"Y-yeah. I will." The kid said softly, "Thank you."

He had manners, at least, this kid on the other side of the district. He had money and manners and a life ahead of him, and Talus weren't sore about it one bit. She supposed sometimes it was easy to get mad about stuff like that, like Eli did when he spoke of revolution, but she weren't mad. There was no point, after all. It wouldn't change nothing.

That stayed on her mind as they caught the seven o'clock freight, and when they finally made it to the fork in the road she nodded to herself before settling her gaze on Eligius. It wouldn't change nothing, but without all that talk of revolution and the anger behind its words then she supposed he wouldn't have anything left.

"Go on home now, Eli." Talus told him, "I'll see you at the square."

"We'll do something after, right Talus?" He asked, "Another Reaping gone by."

For some reason she didn't have the heart to agree with him, not today. Something was wrong, she knew that in her bones, and so she hung her head low. "Whatever you want, Eli. We'll do what you want."

He might have watched her as she walked away, as he was so prone to doing these days, and perhaps he smiled for the sake of smiling, because he didn't have much at all to smile at these days.

Talus was still drunk, she realised as she walked down the road. She had tunnel vision and the streets seemed never ending as they stretched on.

It was difficult maneuvering down the dirt roads and patchy pavements, and her eyes would slip shut as she tumbled and tripped over her own two feet, but she carried on like always. Drunk in body and sober in mind, she walked the streets with all the carelessness and ease of a king, despite her sombre mood and musings.

There was an old wino on the street, his head lulling and his decrepit hands clutching a bottle. It wasn't unusual to see this sort of thing where she lived, and she wouldn't have bat an eye if it weren't for the peacekeepers.

"Leave 'im alone, old boys." Talus called out to the men in white flanking the man either side of the street. "Ain't doing no harm, is he? He ain't hurtin' nobody. Just let him be."

"It's Reaping Day, kid." One called back roughly, "We can't have a bum littering up the streets."

She frowned to herself, and she could see Reggin's head peaking out the window from across the street. He looked pale and sad and scared, eyes darting frantically and wild. What's old Reg worrying for, anyway, he's not the one flanked by peacekeepers.

She felt kinda funny, and everything seemed to blur for a while, when she looked back at the house Reggin was gone.

"Let him be, old boy." Talus mumbled, stumbling to the wino. "Ain't hurting..."

"Watch yourself, girlie." One warned her.

She shook her head, "Just let him go."

"Now, I won't beat you this once." The man warned, his comrade pushing the old man back to the ground where he belonged, "But only because it's reaping day, girlie. You better bet that if I catch you again I'll beat your head in."

He spoke like she had done some heinous crime, like he'd actually caught her doing something wrong, but she simply shrugged a helpless shrug in reply.

She watched them leave, and she didn't spare the wino a glance as she spoke. "Go find a sewer to crawl into, old man. You'll get nothing but abuse on today of all days."

And then she left.

She made it to her makeshift home alright, and it was only quarter to eight even though her walk home had felt like an eternity. Setting her alarm she threw herself on the bed, sleeping in the clothes she had on her back with her boot clad feet hanging off the end of her bed, not a care in the world and the Reaping seemingly far off.

 _ **(AN: The next chapter will be a chapter on it's own, none of this part 1 part 2 business, it gets on my nerves. It'll be the reaping. This is a legit word, and I use it on the regular, but for those unaware a Wino is someone drinking cheap booze and is typically homeless.)**_


	4. Chapter Three, A Bird in the Hand

It was that morning that she woke up again, with the distinct thought of it not being the first time, staring at her standard uniform morosely. The sunlight that flooded the room through broken blinds seemed to mock her plight, and the only thing that could possibly console her was the promise of getting to work tomorrow. But until then she'd have to drag herself out of bed, despite the fact that there was really no reason to do so other than the prospect of getting shot for not attending. Even then she was still tempted to stay at home.

There was a dull thudding that reverberated through her mind systematically, and was it really so sad that the familiar ache of a hangover set her at ease?

The truth was that she liked work, but that in itself was only a half-truth. She liked to be occupied, she liked to keep her hands busy, and she liked the vague sense of having something to do when she woke up in the mornings. That was partly why she smoked so much, because she had restless hands, and why she liked to build meticulous designs and spend hours drawing intricate lines. She had a method for her madness, and it suited her well.

But she also liked to drink, and she had been a gambler for as long as she could remember, and she got into fights, and she could hold herself with the best of them. Those traits were what defined her, as a Mick, as a person, and she wouldn't let herself forget it. It wasn't self deprecation, she was quite fond of herself in many ways, it was just how it was. Like how Benz's wore shiny shoes, and Eligius dreamed of rebellion, and Reggin's hair stuck on end, it just _was_.

So with that in mind, and a solemness that crept in like the damp, she went about finding something to wear to the reaping. It wasn't easy, she didn't have much of anything to her name, just a job and a small room and a few things bar that standard uniform.

Not too far from the Justice Building was a showcase of workshops and markets, and Talus rented a single room above CIRCINUS' TRINKETS, a small shop full of the most weird and wonderful knick knacks in the whole of District 6. Not that there was much competition.

Circinus was a family name, one that her landlord took pride in. The family acted as if it had always been a tradition of sorts, but in reality the founder of the shop had been dead for a little under thirty five years. He had outlived his children, even his grandchildren, and by the time death took him the third generation of Circinus', which landed solely on the current Circ of which she paid her rent, was already deteriorating with age. Circ _(the fifth if you please)_ , was the last in a long line of Circinus'.

The radio by her bedside came to life, an electrical buzz not all that different from the one in her workshop set her at ease, and a baritone voice pealed through the stereo.

" _Now my girl you're so young and pretty, and one thing I know is true. You'll be dead before your time it due, I know."_

It was hard to tell if the strain was from the device or the voice itself, it was an old rebel song by some long dead band, working class lads that were a sign of rebellion and the olden days. The station playing it was an underground operation, run by the freedom fighters of District Six and played in seedy pubs and working class homes. Some people didn't know better than to play it, others played it loud and proud, but Talus simply liked the songs.

" _Watch my Daddy in bed a-dyin', watched his hair been turnin' grey. He's been workin' and slavin' his life away. Oh yes, I know it."_

It was a blessing to find a pair of jeans that wasn't ripped or stained or gone to rags, but the pair she found seemed well enough to her, if not entirely suitable for the occasion. She didn't own a dress, hadn't even worn one in as long as she could remember, but that wasn't entirely unusual for working class Mick's. The jobs they got weren't dress-appropriate, you couldn't wear a skirt while wielding motor car parts or shifting coal into the furnace, it simply wasn't practical.

In a half assed attempt to make them more presentable she rolled the cuffs up to hide the dirt clinging to the ends and their threadbare state. There wasn't much else she could do for them, they were her best pair out of this sorry lot she called a closet.

The blouse she stumbled upon next was by pure accident, and she remembered the day she had stuffed it down the back of the drawers vividly. She let the linen run through her hands, shifting the scratchy material and getting a proper feel for it, the fact that the last time she had worn it was at her own Mother's funeral was strikingly clear in her mind, and reluctantly she slipped her dirty shirt off.

It was strangely suitable, for her to wear this very blouse on this particular reaping, but she wasn't to have known it was her own funeral she was attending.

There was nothing to be done about her engineer boots, because she didn't own any other shoes, and she was grateful for the normalcy of the sound they made off her flooring as she shoved them on.

She ascended the spiralled steps groggily, though still having to hop and skip about in order to prevent herself from falling through a weakened step or a lopsided piece of metal that would throw her off balance and send her tumbling down the stairs- a fatal prospect to be sure. But Circ's shop seemed to be designed to kill off its inhabitants, and Talus saw it as just another puzzle to conquer- even when she was half asleep or still just a little bit drunk from the night before.

"Talus, lad, have you seen the bird? The bird, lad, the bird! It flew from the cuckoo's nest, it lives in one of the writing desks of course. Yes, yes, the bird…"

She smiled a gap toothed smile at the eccentric old man with his messy grey hair and large glasses askew atop his head. He was always talking about this that and the other, an oddity unto himself. When she was growing up the shop had been a safe haven of sorts, a place she could hide and find all new puzzles. Back then Circ hadn't been missing so many screws up there, though even then he hadn't been quite normal by any standards.

"O'course, Circ, what colour was 'is beak?" Talus asked eagerly, leaning in as if hanging off every single word, an air about her that made the speaker feel as if they had her unyielding, devote attention. Despite her lonesome ways Talus was likeable, moreover she was polite. Sometimes, at least where her offbeat landlord was concerned.

There was something to be said about a girl with a soft spot for animals and the elderly.

Circ nodded, deeming her question entirely suitable, because of course the colour of the beak was of the utmost importance concerning the bird's nest. "Red, like the sky, lad. And he spoke with such a silly accent too, honestly it was quite rude."

He ducked behind a shelf stocked entirely with handmade goods, some Talus had even made herself and thrown to the shelves without a second glance. Circ wouldn't notice, and she was fine with him selling whatever she put up, it didn't make any different- She was a passive onlooker in her own life, it seemed.

She could see his goggles peaking from above the stock, bobbing as he walked down the winding aisles littered with products. "He was bloody taloned with a gold plated breast, the whitest neck I've ever seen. Spotted crest, lad, it was spotted."

"That makes sense, everyone knows red beaked birds have no damn manners. Gold breasted ones are even worse."

He nodded knowingly, "Yes, yes. I wonder what the cat would think…"

With that Talus bade him farewell, an oddly affectionate smile at her lips. Circ wasn't all there, not anymore, he was breaking at the seams. But he meant well, and that was all that mattered.

The reaping wasn't far off, but she had time, so she wandered down the grayscale streets with no haste. Workshops lined the roads, the distinct metallic clink of machinery and hammers beating against anvils sounded clearly into the day, and the roar of the fire putting her at ease. The only spot of colour would be Circ, with his patchwork, quilt-like long coat that he always wore.

It was industrialised, and every few streets you'd find another scrap yard. She had spent her childhood in the yards, jumping on motor cars or curling herself up in the musty leather seats. It was a playground of sorts, metallic like everything else in the district, and just as dangerous.

As the occurrence of cars came to a decline so did the quality of the houses.

Talus would meet the boys at Axel's home, just like every nerve wracking reaping before, where their names had trickled past idle hands and they breathed a baited breath in relief. Solemn, with rueful delight and the cold and clammy hands of shame taking hold, they would dip into the depths of hedonism, basking in their youth and livelihoods while some poor sod was beckoned onto the death coach. That's what the train to the games was called by district six, distinct from the freights and the coaches. Not many trains got their own names, but this one did.

She could taste the alcohol on her tongue already, the stale scent of smoke polluting her lungs and the noise that filled the air. People would smile, and they'd feel plenty guilty for it in the morning, even more so as the games quickly approached the beginning, and they'd remember that they had smiled while watching the poor sonovabitch on screen die painfully. That was the way it was, and Talus accepted it, though she didn't smile and she wouldn't feel guilty.

There would be a certain sense of unfairness, but she'd had the acute feeling that life was unfair all her life. There would be no smiles and no guilt, because Talus liked to accept things and let them run their natural course.

The death coach was a one way ticket to the morgue, or rather the games, where the hungry got a last supper that left them bursting at the seams, only to be cut open by another child. Usually much bigger and more suited for the title of victor, but not always. Sometimes it was the well fed that won, more often than not, but they were hungry in their own way. Blood lust and an insatiable thirst, the kind that reached one's eyes and left the viewers uncomfortable but on the edge of their seats anyway. Beneath that unnerved feeling that rang heavy in the air was an unsound excitement, wrong but pleasurable like everything gratifying.

And sometimes, less likely, it was the ones with a greater hunger that took the crown out from underneath the rest. Underdogs, a beacon and a lie. Those were the most damning of games in Talus' opinion. Games like those made bastards like Reggin think it was possible to win, made them hope beyond hope, and it was the hope it inspired that made Talus feel sick most of all. People like them didn't win, just look at district six's sorry lot of so called 'victors', they were diseased. It was a plight that plagued them at night and the hedonism her and her friends indulged in that left them shallow beings and a shell of the child that went in. Those children never came out, that was the truth of it, just sick and wary animals, ghosts that withered away slowly over the years.

They were the ashes of the keep and the dust of the streets, one with where they came from once more, cushioned by the sweet relief of death.

It was more humane to put a bullet in their head. There was no such thing as hope after all.

Just like every year, Talus would go to Axel's house. And just like every year, Talus had to do something first.

She took an alleyway, following the spiralling of winding cobblestones and narrow walls, sure footed and silent as she slipped through the cracks of the main street and into the shadows of the forgotten lanes. There was a purpose in mind, like everything she did, and she ended up at a downtrodden shack on an unmarked trail as the cement gave way to dirt and dust. It was out of way, hidden to all those too dense to look, and she found no comfort in the silence.

It stemmed from a promise she had made many summers ago, and she liked to keep her promises. There was a jaded honesty about Micks, and while there may not have been honor among thieves there was something resembling honor in the way they selectively kept their word.

Her engineer boots were gathering a light coat of fine dirt, and she knew dust would soon muffle the dampened shine of worn leather. Maybe she'd clean them afterwards, but more likely she would forget, she acknowledged it as little more than an afterthought as she kicked the weeds in the grassy path that had long since overgrown, and it didn't bother her at all. It was okay to forget something as small as cleaning your boots, she could do it anytime if it really mattered, but keeping her word was something she held with esteem. If her boots had to get dirty in order to fulfill her promise then she wouldn't think anything of it.

A shuttered home by the ditch too large with thorny brush, the door half rotted to waste and a knocker hanging off its hinges, this was the destination in mind. A promise to keep, even if the house was not well kept. She rapped her knuckles against the softened wood in sharp and quick concession.

 _Knock-knock- knock- knock- knock!_ Pause, fist hovers. Beats. _Knock, knock!_

Talus slipped her hands into her pockets, patient, knowing all too well that he liked to say 'good things come to those who wait'. She knew his little sayings off by heart, and she abided by them for his sake, because if not she'd never hear the end of it.

Finally, the door pushed against the floor with an unused _shuuuuuuck_ , unsticking from the shrinking frame as the hinges sinked and drooped with time and nature's laws. A withered face peered out at her, handsome once, perhaps still so in a certain light, and a sharp smile curled at his lips, showing keen teeth long discoloured but somehow still all there. Age had a way of being strangely cruel and kind like that.

She remembered faintly the first time she had seen that face, doddering yet flawless, and those silvery eyes that moved like liquid, never languid but always bright. As a child she would have had the proper mind to be scared, but for some reason she'd denied the fright his appearance inspired.

"Talus, it's been an age." He purred knowingly, a wicked gleam lighting up his sharp eyes not at all dulled with age. She couldn't tell you what colour they were really, and if she had to put a name to them it would have been silver. Talus had never seen silver in real life, but she liked the idea of it. "An old man like myself doesn't have many visitors, you know. It gets lonely out here all by myself."

She regarded his silver eyes monotonously, watching the way they gleamed as the light hit them and moved fluidly like the shiny sheen of a metallic finish. Kind of like the motor cars at the drag races, except less dull and rusted. It was strange, the sensation of knowing it looked like silver when she had never seen real silver in the first place. But metal just wasn't a suitable description for those orbs, she knew, watching the sterling sheen flicker on.

"You hate people, Sol. You're the one that told me not to bother showing me face until the reaping, you old coot."

Sol gave a tinkering laugh, moving aside to let her in, his hunched up figure hanging over hers with what little room there was in the hallway. Sunlight fell from the gaps in the rafters from the roof top in dusty beams, and his eyes seemed like mirrors then. "You listen to me a lot, don't you? Always listening, such a bright girl."

"Did I ever have a choice?" She muttered, entering the next room with him closely behind, making sure not to look back. There was nothing quite as unsettling as seeing your own distorted reflection in someone's eyes.

There was a damp smell permeating the rooms, clinging to the air thick and nauseating. It was stale piss and the overbearing perfume of the earth, rot and mould- but most prominent of all was the smell of poor old Sol, who wore a smell only the decrepit could own. It made him seem pathetic and old, and she didn't like it one bit.

Desolate and dark in places, even in the light the inner working of an old shack looked in bad shape. There wasn't much of anything she could see, just half worn fabric furniture that used to have a pattern but now consisted of a dull colouring in memory of what it once was. The wallpaper was gone, there was evidence of it here and there but it mostly fell off the walls in scraps and strips, hanging down and brushing against her skin as she walked past. It made her skin crawl.

The plaster was gone from the walls, some of them were collapsed and others just rafters and boards where walls used to be. She was readily aware that she was inside a skeleton, just the dusty remains of a dead house, and she couldn't imagine Sol living anywhere else.

"Misery loves company." Sol told her, another one of his little sayings, hands clenching and unclenching, deftly wiping his face. "Make yourself comfortable."

"Misery builds character." She replied, yet another saying he liked to bestow upon her.

He laughed for real then, chittering to himself as he grinned a sickening grin. This light made him look handsome, generous gold backlit alluding to the man he once was. "You're here for something or nothing at all. What _s-ah_ smart girlie like you doing asking questions, hey?"

Talus watched him grow old once more before her very eyes, the way his boots with the holes in the soles hit heavier against the rotted wood of the landing, his hands gone numbed and stiff and stopped moving altogether. It was his face she dreaded the most though, with its wallowing quality and sunken skin. Then the light shuttered, her eyes staring on in disbelief, and Sol didn't seem much of anything regarding age. Like he didn't have one and time didn't apply to him. It was wrong, that was the most distinct feeling she could muster from it- pure instinct that only came about when something was truly out of place.

Sol smacked his lips together loudly, and she glared at him from her side of the room.

"I haven't even asked them yet."

"And there's no need to, Sol knows all." He tsked, crooked fingers motioning elaborate movements as he talked. Misshapen and old, it looked painful just watching him move his hands, but he didn't so much as wince as he lithely twirled and moved them about.

He sat heavily in a moth ridden chair, the fabric used to have a nice pattern on it, his slight frame drowned in his seat, and he regarded her seriously for a moment.

"The sun rises in the East and sets in the West." He told her, voice rising and falling with his words, uneasy on the ears.

"I know that already."

"Like I said, you listen too much."

"There's no such thing as too much of a good thing." She reminded him, because talking to Sol was a constant lesson consisting of sayings and regurgitating said sayings over and over again. "Can you tell me something I don't know already?"

"Tell me, Talus." Sol sing songed, all knowing and smile growing tenfold, though there was something wrong with the look in his eyes. "Has the red beaked bird payed you a visit yet?"

Bronze orbs met silver, and she frowned deeply at her old friend. "Circ mentioned it, why do you ask?"

"Do you believe in fate, Talus?"

"I believe in my own luck."

"Well, then your own luck is awfully poor. I like your blouse."

It was an abrupt change in conversation, and her head was sent reeling, but she realised mutely that it was the blouse she wore to her Mother's funeral.

"Do you want me to bet on the Micks or the Benz?" She asked hastily, before he could say something damaging.

"I won't be betting this year. My heart's not in it."

Sol always placed a bet, he'd hand her the coins and she'd place in at the bar before she went to Axel's. That was how it always was, even before she was old enough to reap, and partly why she had picked up a gambling habit in the first place. But she wouldn't argue with him, she didn't like arguing with old people and she didn't like spending too much time here. Watching Sol's strange face go from ageless to withered in the wink of an eye was something that made her feel uncomfortable, and his hands turning tricks while riddled with arthritis was as painful as it was upsetting.

Silver eyes fluttered shut, and she'd get no more out of Sol today.

On her way out he called to her.

"And Talus?"

She didn't turn around but she did stop where she stood, waiting patiently for him to say whatever it was that needed to be said.

"The bird in the hand is worth two in the brush." He was unusually solemn, and if she had dared to look back she would have seen silver dulled by unshed tears, murky and full of something no one could understand. It would have done her no good looking back, and so she didn't. "You listen to me too much, girl, but if there's anything worth remembering it's that."

And then she left, more questions than she had coming in and none of them answered at all. That was mostly expected of course, it was Sol after all.

So she began her trek back to the land of the living and Axel's house, heavy thoughts flitting through her brain.

The townsfolk called old Sol the Sungod, and his old but ageless face was hardly ever seen anymore. They had ran him out of town, and Talus had stumbled upon him by accident years after the fact, but for some reason she kept going back. She supposed it was because Sol wanted her to, his will imposing on her own. She didn't much like that thought, free will and all that.

 _Answers_ , her mind told her, _answers is what you go for, and answers is what you don't get_. And even so she went back, and if she lived past today she would go back once more next year.

As she exited the alleyway all thoughts of Sol seemed to fade, and she no longer knew what colour his eyes were or how wrong his grin seemed. Those kinds of things were only inexplicably clear when they were right in front of your face, you never really remembered the shade of someone's eyes or their smile when they weren't around. That happened every year, but she couldn't remember. She didn't bother to. Maybe it was the sudden light and the absence of spiralling boulevards, or the noise accompanied by human presence, either way she didn't pay Sol much more than a passing thought.

She did, however, remember that the bird in the hand was worth two in the brush. And she wouldn't be betting this year.

She could see Axel's house in the near distance.

They would congregate at his house because he was the only one with a house worth going to. For most people the Reaping was a family occasion, where siblings gripped each other's arms and parents gave out teary smiles, but Talus didn't have a family and Eligius and Reggin didn't have one worth mentioning. It was common for Mick's like them, so they didn't mind much, it was simply the norm.

It was while she was walking down that road that she saw them, her friend's bumbling and billowing down the crooked pathways. Reggin's awkward jaunty walk and Eligius' cool saunture that didn't tell much of anything.

She fell into step with them, her own sure footed feet joining theirs in a practiced manner. With an exchange of nods they were all familiar with each other and ready to start the ritual of another Reaping. In silence, if Talus and Eligius would have their way, but Reggin had never quite been as in tune with their moods as they were with each others.

"How many times is your name in today?" Reggin spoke around his cigarette, running a dirty hand through mildly clean hair.

If looks could kill he would have dropped, because nobody wanted to think about their dreaded number.

Talus shrugged, puffing her own coffin nail, "Hit twenty, I guess. Maybe a little more, I can't remember which year it was that Uncle Tumus got hauled away."

Reg nodded thoughtfully, frowning, "Weren't you fourteen?"

You could always tell when ole Reg was thinking, his steps would falter and his freckled face managed to look even more confused than usual. Sometimes you could even tell what he was thinking before he managed to think it himself, he was just that predictable and easy to read. There was a certain charm to the simplicity of having friends like Reg.

"Yeah," she grimaced, cigarette juttering with her lips, "but was that before or after the reaping?"

"Mine's in the thirties, somewhere." Eligius swore, and sometimes it was easy to forget that he had more siblings than he could count.

They bounded up to Axel's front door, looking every bit the raggamuffin Mick's that they were, and Eligius rapped his knuckles with broken skin against the door without so much as a wince. Cut knuckles were an accessory by this point, one he wore more often than not.

Waiting a beat, suspended between the reality of today and waiting on the doorstep, he opened the door.


	5. Chapter Four, Misgivings

He opened the door. There was a loose panel, from when the peacekeepers came and hauled all four of them away for punishment just a few months ago. Eligius and Talus, who had fought all the way to the lashing posts, mouthing off about damned traps and saying every bad word they knew, and hadn't stopped even when the whips were out, had bore more thrashes than Axel and Reggin put together, and they still had the scars to prove it.

Sometimes, when a particularly unruly Mick was up, the men in white would tie more knots to the leather chords, though it was illegal. Talus' personal count was five additional knots, Eligius at a whopping seven that left him crippled up in her workshop for a whole week. They'd thought it a record, but her old Uncle Tumnus had thrice beat it with nine. She could still feel the stiff and sore spot in the hollow of her shoulders from a particularly nasty hit, how the torn skin mended itself taut and uncomfortably tight.

She remembered it the most every time she stood in front of the door, with it's broken panel, and that day seemed important to her- it hadn't been the first time she was on the lashing post, and it wouldn't be the last by any means, but it seemed different that time.

Maybe it was the way the peacekeeper had leered at her as her shirt came to tatters around her slim frame, or the way the blood and sweat was slick like oil against her skin, and how she saw a couple of the victor's watching- One of the more vicious ones, Tiberius, had eventually demanded enough, and by then she was barely coherent.

(" _Woof, woof! Tiberius! Give the dog a bone! An' look a' the ribs on tha' one, hah? She's a lean piece a'meat if I've ever seen one! Aooowoooaaah!" The peacekeeper howled._

 _Later on Eligius had been conscious enough to curse said man before promptly passing out cold once more. The fact that he'd heard it had surprised Talus, by then he'd been in worse shape than her and the world was barely been a blimp on her radar._

" _Those traps, they think they can do and say anything, like a white coat makes them something more. I know the truth though, they bleed the same as you and me, Tal. They bleed ten times over, for the state and for that damn uniform.")_

"Bleedin' 'ell, woman, you nearly 'ad me head off then!" A distinctly indignant voice rang out.

"Don't you ' _damn, woman'_ me, Axel James Bartholomew Smith, because next time I won't miss!"

Axel winced at the mere utterance of his full, painstakingly long name, and she thought he almost fell to his knees in relief when his Mother's attention strayed from him. His ruddy cheeks went as red as his hair.

His Mother had named him as such, with that terribly long name, because the rich folk always had more than one. It seemed to Talus that the rich were the only ones fool enough to afford it, it was always the people who had more money than sense that bought into the excess, and the Mick's were a much more simple kind when it came to names.

Though you wouldn't know it by their colourful language and fantastical words when it came to the art of insults, that was one thing they had everyone else beat at it seemed. That and drinking and gambling, the staple of Mick-dom and rudiments of being.

Mrs. Smith's violently red face cooled to the normal, rosy cheeked woman that loved to bake and take in strays. Talus had always marveled at the woman's ability to go from full blown screeching to polite and cheerful in a second flat. That must be where Axel got his dramatics from.

"Oh, look, the whole group is here." She smiled, gentle and caring like.

It set her on edge when May Smith smiled like that, it didn't seem right to smile so fondly at anyone. The floral pattern of the curtains and patched furniture didn't exactly do wonders in helping her piece it all together, it was almost scary how homey the place looked.

She hadn't been so gentle a few months ago, when they hauled her son to the posts and he had to take his lashes just like everyone else.

"Goodness!" She spoke suddenly, horrified. "Eligius, lad, you're bleeding! -And Talus, is that a bruise I can see coming along? A split lip, too! What on earth have you two been up to!"

"We fell, is all, Mrs. Smith." Talus murmured, and she could feel Eligius side up next to her, his fingers brushing against her ramrod straight back. He didn't like it when she was so tense, because she had always been so fluid and nimble in the way she moved. "We were in the scrap yard looking for oddments and we fell down the heap, into the tyre barrels." Talus could lie like no other.

"You must be more careful, I do hate that you hang around those junk yards so much." Mrs. Smith tutted sorrowfully, "I'll go put the tea on, shall I?"

It was wrong. A woman, a Mick no less, living in the neighbourhood she did, shouldn't be so unused to violence. And the truth was that she wasn't unused to it at all, but she did love her pretenses.

Axel, with his coppery hair and impish grin, shepherded them into the house. "Why, 'ello there, you lot! Fancy seeing you here on a day like today."

It was supposed to be a joke, but Axel made terrible jokes more often than not, and people often forgot to laugh.

"We had to drop in on our favourite flid, we were feelin' charitable today." Eligius shot back moodily.

There was a drug making rounds not too long ago under the guise of experimental birth control, and the archaic word had sprung up again in trend when a wave of deformed and mentally deficient babies were born in the drugs wake. Talus remembered it like it was yesterday, because the Capitol sent the firing squad out to dispose of the mess their experiment had made.

"Someone's been taking a leaf from T'lus' book, because you sure as hell didn't think that one up on your own, dim-low that you are." Axel cracked, a poor joke at the best of times but utterly dismal on a day like today. "Oh wait! I almost forgot- you only use big words on one of those political tyrades you go off on, pretending like you know big words to make yourself feel smart!"

Eligius, with a face like thunder, yanked the smaller boy up by the collar of his shirt.

Herself and Reg swore, and she knew he'd been wheeling for a fight all morning. The blonde boy batted Reg away easily, but it was Talus who wrapped both hands around his abdomen and heaved, making him lose his footing, wincing as he fell into her stiff shoulder.

"Bloody hell, Eligius, what the hell did I ever do?" Axel's eyes bugged from his head, pale face set in a grim line as he righted himself.

Talus, still holding on to her unruly friend, supported both their weight uneasily as Eligius' ragged breath began to even out some. Pulling him by the ribs had been a real low move, she knew they were bruised bad from the fight he had with his old man a couple of nights ago, but she couldn't let him lay into Axel. He would have felt real shitty about it once the Reaping was over and done with.

"Quit it." She told them both, voice like steel, but it was mostly directed at the redhead. "The both of you, just quit."

The bird in the hand is worth two in the brush, and looking at her friends as something brewed in the air she supposed Eligius was the bird in her hand. With his wings broken and his feathers frayed.

"Sure, whatever you say, tuts." He blew the flaming red hair from his eyes, slumping himself down on an old cushioned chair, floral patterned much like everything else. "How's the old man?"

She let her arms drop from Eligius' middle, feeling his hot breath fan out across her face and patting his side twice for good measure, as if to say 'no hard feelings'. He slugged her hard in the shoulder in response, but she had expected it and didn't so much as blink.

"The red beaked bird was being rude to him."

He looked at her as if she were a conundrum, as if himself and Circ were entirely normal and _she_ were the one losing it. Maybe she was, maybe it was everyone else that was normal.

"It had a gold breast." She added, just to distract herself from the pain.

Reggin, twitching like the nervous wreck he was, and being no help whatsoever, burst into laughter. Then, like always, Axel joined in, and it didn't matter that it wasn't the least bit funny to begin with. Talus and Eligius didn't so much as crack a smile, though, still huddled together and holding on to the last thread of composure they had. Like the closeness of one another was the only thing keeping them sane, and in a way it was.

Her shoulder hurt, a blooming ache rising to the surface and twinging with pain like new bruises forming liked to do. She couldn't imagine how much Eli's ribs must have been hurting, but she couldn't let him hit Axel. Talus couldn't watch him hurt someone he'd only feel guilty about.

Mrs. Smith returned with the tea all laid out in dainty chipped chinaware, blissfully unaware of the brewing fight between the boys the same way she remained unaware of pretty much everything.

The tea toddered and tittered against the glass, spilling over the edge and pooling around the tray.

Maybe Talus resented her for it, because watching Eligius' painstaking silence almost made her want to tear into someone herself. Her shoulder smoldered with an acute stiffness that irked her, the nimble creature that she was.

They spent a half hour there, on horribly floral patterned furniture before heading out. Mrs. Smith fixed her sons shirt and Reggin's hair, she told Talus what a pretty girl she was growing up to be and fussed over Eligius' bruised face. All the while Talus watched as Axel and Reg preened at the attention, fighting back a wince when the hefty woman reached out her hand to pull at her blouse admiringly and watching Eli grimace with every brush of skin against his own.

Loose panel or not, Talus couldn't think of anything better than that door right now. Something about a motherly touch made her wish for whip knots and rising welts.

As they bundled outside she saw a familiar girl set out on the steps next door, heavily pregnant and halfway through a cigarette. The girl's eyes followed Eligius, not that he gave a damn, and beside her the radio frazzled in and out.

" _He's been workin' so hard- I've been workin' too, babe, every night an' day!"_

They shuffled along the streets, scaring off most of the other kids with their surly attitudes, despite the fact that Axel was mustering up a ten watt smile. That smile must have only scared people some more, it was out of place on a day like today.

"Jeez, did you see her sittin' there? She balloooooned up," he puffed his cheeks out, going from skipping to a tittering waddle. "My Ma wonders where she's keeping that baby, in her stomach or her ass!"

"I can't believe Robbie got her pregnant, oh boy…"

"Don't go getting your end wet, Reg, ya wet end! Don't go getting a hard on for sloppy seconds!"

She watched them with boredom, her hands itching and a cigarette lodged between lofty fingers. The walk to the trains on Reaping day was strenuous, and she wished she was more drunk for it, that the drink hadn't faded to nothing all of a sudden and the numbness hadn't set in.

The two boys were getting further ahead, mindlessly catching a drift and picking up the pace as if it wasn't a matter of their certain deaths they were harrowing towards. It was so simple for them to forget, for them to lose themselves in the nothingness of meaningless conversation, and they were the only damn kids in the entirety of the district that could smile in that moment.

An odd motorcar or two peeled down the roads at a sluggish pace, looking out of place and making strange sounds. It wasn't usual for anyone to be driving cars, but the Justice Building had a parking lot that went largely unused if not for the Reaping- They looked like hearse's to her, archaic types long forgotten that drove coffins to funeral services back before the Capitol was a thing. She didn't know how she knew about hearses, but she did and they stuck with her on that walk.

"Bum a smoke?" Eligius asked softly, fingers brushing against her sore shoulder in an unspoken apology.

The two of them seemed to gravitate towards each other, watching the others amble away as they got stuck in something mundane. When she looked at him he was watching ahead, his bruises and blonde hair looking every bit fitting.

She raised her head and handed him the pack, her own coffin nail end bloodied by her lip.

"Sometimes I think those two are crazy." He admitted, nodding towards the two bounding ahead. "Axel with his dumb jokes, his loud mouth is gonna get him killed one of these days- and Reg… Well, nobody can be that dumb and live, can they?"

Talus shrugged, kicking some stone on the pathway. She knew to let him wonder aloud, to let him talk it all through before deciding if she should speak, if she had anything at all to say.

He stuck his match and lit the end, taking a drag once, twice, thrice, before levelling his hands, letting his thoughts settle in the air before speaking once more.

"I don't get it, Tal, I just don't get it. Why in the hell are you with us guys, huh? You graduated two years early at the top of your class, Axel got held a year back and Reg is still in shop with those bozo's since he couldn't muster up a good grade on those tests... You should be hangin' with guys more your speed, guys who get the lingo and all those big words. Not us. Not some half shy Mick's that will be workin' shop till the day we die."

Smoke drifted from her lips, and she kind of looked at him seriously before turning her head straight forward. It wasn't some bullshit, she knew, and she wouldn't dare dismiss it all with weak reassurances and hurried excuses. When a guy you know spoke like that, when he got real all of a sudden and the words burst from his chest, you had no choice but to listen.

"You know, sometimes I hope you won't turn up." He said suddenly, and it occurred to her just how old he looked then. "I'm drinkin' piss with the guys and we're waitin' at the drag races, and I swear to God I pray you won't show face. That you'll finally clue up and you'll find real people, _real_ guys that know what you mean when you say stuff. And maybe you won't have to be so quiet no more, 'cos they'll get it. Even if we don't."

"If all you're doing with your life is workin' shop, I'll kill you, Eli. You're a far cry from the others. You're made for something better, not that there's anything wrong with workin' shop… You're an innovator. And you dig what I say more than anyone, man." Talus promised.

He looked at her. Her bronze eyes and shortly cropped hair. He was smiling, but it was dark, and his eyes looked empty.

"Friends are the burning man, Tal. They're seven shades of flames and they catch quick, and they'll burn you in the end. They'll burn you 'till you're stone cold death and ain't got nothin' left to give, ain't got nothing for them to eat at no more."

They were at the station now, a line forming for the stairwell to the platform.

Talus blew on her cigarette, not saying anything but stuffing her hands in her pockets in a way that said she was okay to wait. She peered up at the Freight Bypass with sharp eyes and her smoke jutting from her lips, and Eligius would be left wondering what she saw up on the Bypass for a long time to come.

In truth it wasn't much, she saw the jigsaw of panels and rafters and the tracks and the too bright sun, and she felt cold. She'd always stared up at it while she waited, it used to seem important and now she was resigned to gaze up at the bypass without understanding it.

But she thought about the burning men, Axel's fiery hair and Reg's wild tufts smoldering and smoking. She thought real hard about those burning men, but she couldn't make herself see Eligius out there with them. Flames licking skin and their faces gone to ashes and catching the wind.

The train was coming, it shook the rafters and the windows and the neighbourhood rattled as it seemed to scream with them. The train was the only noise in all of the West, it chugged against the bypass track and billowed smoke that settled everywhere, ringing noisily the sound of metal against metal and big turning wheels.

Talus liked the trains, she liked the rhythm of them. The way they rocked back and forth and how she sat contentedly in the carriages waiting, in between places as the world passed by like the time. It was the kind of thing you could only really appreciate on a day like the Reaping, she knew, because that was the time you were most unsure and suspended between things.

So she watching the bypass, and she thought about those burning men. The smoke didn't rise in any specific direction, there was no wind and it wafted upwards lamely before movement sent it backwards. There was no East or West, not where the smoke was concerned- not as the burning men ate away at the platform and scorched everything they touched.

"C'mon, Talus. Let's go find ole Reg and that asshat Axel, before they get some dumb idea in their heads."

Everyone pushed into a fine streamed current, piling up at the exit and adding themselves into the Reaping queques. It wouldn't take so long, not with the abundance of Peacekeepers signing everyone in- the number doubled from last year, and Talus fought back the urge to swear when she saw all those white uniforms.

Before the lines descended into strict girl boy groupings the screens were visible and the far off stage was nearly extinguishable- you just had to squint a little to spot the tiny people.

Eighteen year olds

The screens played a loop of Capitol announcements, a logo rotating on its axis before cutting to flags or game reruns and old film of teenagers standing in all their victor glory. The twelve year olds were the ones that stared the most, because nobody owned a television and they only came out for the Reaping each year. It took some of the sting out of today, maybe.

The feed cut to the Mayor's plump frame as he stood upfront by the microphone, smiling tersely beneath his fine mustache and neck chief straining at his top button- looking ready to pop. Either side of him was the hangman's noose; glacier bowls almost as wide and tall as the Mayor's belly containing everyone's names sometimes ten time over. Talus looked at Eligius and wondered, but it did her no good so she watched the television screen instead.

Hadn't he said the figure was in its thirties- and she knew he was pushing forty easy enough.

Behind the Mayor was the shadowy figures of the Victor's of district six slumped and bent against fold up chairs to the side of the stage on a platform near the stairs. There was only three of them, all pinned to the wall and hiding their faces, just flickering figures that looked only half awake.

There was Brokkr, the newest but not quite new. She couldn't remember how many years it had been since he won, but she knew his face simply enough.

She remembered Brokkr from the drag races of her youth, the victor that made near suicidal swerves on the track and hadn't shown any regard at all for his life. Those were the races that had scared her as a child but the very same ones she wouldn't have dared to miss. It was the anticipation, the inexplicable daring of a man with nothing but his life to lose.

Talus would watch from the fences as he lit up a cigarette after a race, watch the way his shoulders seemed to carry more weight than any other man in the world, how his eyes dulled and a strange sense of sorrow filled him. It was like he wanted to die, but he could never seem to swing the wheel that inch too far on one of those right turns he'd take a little too sharp.

Then there was Tiberius. She knew him best from the bars, and he'd watched the drag races of a weekend in steely silence every now and then.

He had touched her once, just last year when she had been too drunk to care. His face had twisted up into a terrible mockery of a smile, one she mirrored all too well when she returned it, and he let his fingers ghost along her rib cage just below her breasts. She only remembered because of the rumours, how it was said he couldn't bare to touch a person after his games, and she wondered if it really had been Tiberius to touch her or just a drunken case of mistaken identity. When she saw him on stage however, Talus knew beyond a doubt that it had been him to touch her as that very smile flashed in Brokrr's direction.

Eligius' jaw went rigid and square, and he looked to be the tallest boy then in the whole of district six, his chest puffed out and his shoulders straight.

"I hate that guy." Eligius told her, "He's the biggest asshole in six, and that's an accomplishment in itself."

"He's not so bad." Talus shrugged, "Though he's got one hell of a temper- broke Mensen's face last week."

Mensen was a trap, and he was alright as far as traps went. He liked to bet with her sometimes, and he was a real lousy bet, but a gracious loser and quick to hand off coin.

Then the feed cut to a panning shot of a tall man with longwinding limbs and a feminine look about him.

The hangman himself, Jules Demerez, was sporting a pink dye job that was known as bubblegum pink to Captilions and their district pets, but to Mick's and the Benz alike it was simply a dumb luck pink that they could all agree looked dumb as hell.

Most people in six had never seen that specific shade of pink in their lives, it wasn't the kind of colour you could achieve on metallic paint jobs or the scratchy fabrics they sold. A couple of kids had the good grace to look amazed or charmed, grown men looked on with trepidation and frowns, and women with barely concealed envy.

Eligius scoffed, another cigarette jutting balefully from his bruised lips, and in Talus' opinion he looked prettier than any dye job or lipstick the Capitol could produce. Their shoulders brushed, and she nudged him a little with her elbow, the two of them sharing quiet laughter and brandishing their own mocking tirades.

"Say, d'ya think I'd look that good with pink hair, Tal?"

"Why, Eligius, dear, you'd look a million bucks." She told him, her lips curved up and her eyes gleaming, "In fact, I'd say you'd look better than poor Jules, your pink hair would put him to shame it would, and he'd cry. I bet you he'd cry."

"Good," he smiled easily, "how much do you reckon those tears would be worth in the Capitol? He's a celebrity, is he not? How much do you think they'd be worth?"

"Too much." She told him, "They don't understand the significance of money, that's why they're so damned rich and we're tripping over our own two feet trying to scramble up enough coppers for a pint."

"Ain't that the truth!"

They liked to laugh about stuff like that, their own misfortune and how the stupid got all the luck. You had to laugh about it on days like today, or else all that you'd have left to do is cry.

All that was left to do in the swindling lines was watch the screens. Up on stage was burly Andreas with his dowr looks, the eldest of the lot and nearly sporting grey in his too dark hair, and he smacked Jules' greeting hand away idly.

"Good luck, guys." Axel told them all, face all earnest as he mustered up a strange smile. "I mean it, I'll see you all afterwards, right?"

Reggin patted Talus' shoulder, almost shy. "You'll come meet us, yeah, T'lus? I wanna hear 'bout that rock fight."

"Eligius was there, too." She said for some inexplicable reason, panic crawling into her chest where it settled against her hummingbird heartbeat. "He can tell it just as good as me, Reg."

The boy gave her a startled look, frowning. "You tell it best. You tell the best stories I've ever heard, you talk real good. It's the way you say it, I dunno…" He shook his head, like he'd confused himself.

"Okay, Reg. Okay."

"I hate this." Eligius admitted, watching the other two boys join the line, his broad shoulder pressed up against hers. "Damn, I hate it. Just… One more year. It shouldn't be that hard to make it one more year."

She bumped his arm with her own, "Yeah, one more year."

It might have been that he was watching her strangely, or that she felt strange in the first place, but she was almost relieved when they got seperated into gendered lines.

A girl with a half shaved head and a white t-shirt rolled at the sleeves offered her a sharp grin. It was a typical cut for Mick girls, along with shortly cropped hair, because it was easier to manage in manual jobs. It made them look the part, too, tougher in a way.

"Heya, Talus. I didn't see you at the races last weekend, you had somewhere better to be?" Her name was Max and she liked to talk some, but the best part was that she didn't expect much of a reply.

Talus shrugged, "I got into a fight at the trapeze."

"Tuff'nough." The girl nodded, a rare respectful look about her as the two of them considered one another. "Didn't know you still went to the trapeze, but more fool you. Those guys don't knock around much anymore."

This time Talus didn't say a word, she had a habit of cutting conversations short, but Max didn't take it the wrong way. Next thing she knew one of the peacekeepers was looking up her name, unprompted, and took the blood for the fingerprint.

"Talus Kober." He sneered, bottom half of his face visible under the viser and curling up into a snarl.

He looked like a dog, sounded like one, too.

With her blood smeared messily into the correct box he sent her off with a forceful shove, one she didn't fall for and quickly maneuvered herself out of reach.

Max had watched it all happen with a quirk of the lips and an admirable look, she thought Talus was the toughest girl in the West, the toughest kid on the block even.


End file.
